The Spaces Between Our Love- Medha Palnati
I see her standing there, gazing up at the moon. Her hands lay at her sides, and though it is dark, I can tell that they are cracked, blood staining her knuckles. The sea seems to encompass her. The rough texture of her hands matching the tides of the ocean, her red hair the only hint of color visible to me.
I want to scream for her. Tell her to go back. That it isn’t worth it. That I am not worth it.
She holds the knife out in front of her. Her palms tight against the cold blade.
Stars seem as though they are falling out of the sky, and I remember the first time I’d ever told her the truth. A summer night, when the only stars visible were the ones in her eyes. When I leaned in to kiss her. When she told me that it would be alright, that she would hold me until death took me.
I wanted to believe her. But the pains in my chest grew more severe, and I was told that the cancer had spread into my bloodstream. Into my bones. I grew frail. Weakness became my best friend, depression my next door neighbor. But still she stayed beside me. Holding my hand, she would tell me that my eyes held galaxies even though my body seemed lifeless.
Closer.
And now the distance of life and death lies between us, and I can’t do anything to save her.
I can see the fire in her eyes, the determination.
I cry out, but no noise escapes my mouth. Tears roll down my cheeks as I watch her lower herself into the deep water.
Closer.
I scream.
The blade pierces her chest. She falls.
Only her red hair is visible from the surface of the water.
Who knew death was so vacant.
The day that I died, I told her that I was going to the hospital again. I remember that her lipstick matched mine, and the nurse later asked me if I had kissed my own cheek. I never got to say goodbye. Before I left, we sat in her backyard beach, watching the very same waves that would consume her, listening to the sounds of the water on the rocks. I held her hand in mine, and focused on her warmth, her beauty. Right before my surgery, I realized that strands of her hair were caught in my bracelet.
Even in life, her hair was the last piece of her I had to hold onto.
But now I have lost her.
Dead, I am forbidden from speech, from sound, from contact. I can only see. I can only interpret. I have been changed, molded. I am no longer human. And now, I will never see her again. For she will be changed, and soon I will forget.
Who knew death was so vacant.
I want to scream for her. Tell her to go back. That it isn’t worth it. That I am not worth it.
She holds the knife out in front of her. Her palms tight against the cold blade.
Stars seem as though they are falling out of the sky, and I remember the first time I’d ever told her the truth. A summer night, when the only stars visible were the ones in her eyes. When I leaned in to kiss her. When she told me that it would be alright, that she would hold me until death took me.
I wanted to believe her. But the pains in my chest grew more severe, and I was told that the cancer had spread into my bloodstream. Into my bones. I grew frail. Weakness became my best friend, depression my next door neighbor. But still she stayed beside me. Holding my hand, she would tell me that my eyes held galaxies even though my body seemed lifeless.
Closer.
And now the distance of life and death lies between us, and I can’t do anything to save her.
I can see the fire in her eyes, the determination.
I cry out, but no noise escapes my mouth. Tears roll down my cheeks as I watch her lower herself into the deep water.
Closer.
I scream.
The blade pierces her chest. She falls.
Only her red hair is visible from the surface of the water.
Who knew death was so vacant.
The day that I died, I told her that I was going to the hospital again. I remember that her lipstick matched mine, and the nurse later asked me if I had kissed my own cheek. I never got to say goodbye. Before I left, we sat in her backyard beach, watching the very same waves that would consume her, listening to the sounds of the water on the rocks. I held her hand in mine, and focused on her warmth, her beauty. Right before my surgery, I realized that strands of her hair were caught in my bracelet.
Even in life, her hair was the last piece of her I had to hold onto.
But now I have lost her.
Dead, I am forbidden from speech, from sound, from contact. I can only see. I can only interpret. I have been changed, molded. I am no longer human. And now, I will never see her again. For she will be changed, and soon I will forget.
Who knew death was so vacant.